Of Villains and Heroes
by guineapiggie
Summary: "There was no light without shadow, after all. No one had ever said the shadows wanted to be the dark side, but someone had to do it, and that someone was him. He couldn't escape that. [...] But if the alternative was a broken heart, he'd rather stick with no heart at all." Mid-Season 2 drabble, Damon's POV.


**Of Villains and Heroes**

**Disclaimer: **I don't own a thing. This was written solely for the purpose of entertainment.

**_*A/N* I haven't watched much of VD yet, so this takes place about halfway into the second season._**  
**_I do apologize for the slightly uncharacteristic language - English is not my mother tongue and I learned British English at school so it comes a lot more naturally to me. I hope it won't bother you._**

* * *

_"Every fairy tale needs a good old-fashioned villain."-_from "Sherlock: The Reichenbach Fall" (BBC)

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So Elena hated him, something like killing her brother, doing stuff behind her back, betraying his humanity and what not.

Great. And while he was sitting there on that old couch, with nothing more than a considerable amount of bourbon to keep him company, he could bet Stefan was bedding the girl that had broken his heart.

Again.

He supposed it must have been a pretty big heart to begin with if there was still anything left to break. Well, another glass of alcohol would fix it. Maybe that was what was keeping his resilience going for all those years.

Lovely. Gosh, he was touching, a miserable, bitter drunkard.

Angrily he set off to his bedroom and grabbed a book, grateful for his wonderful sense of balance. Some of his worst human memories included running into doors and other vicious, solid objects in such a state.

Five hours later, he'd finished _The Merchant of Venice _for the three hundred and twelfth time (kidding, he didn't waste his precious memory capacity on keeping count - but it still sucked reading the same twenty books for all eternity, where was a Shakespeare when you needed one?).

And he was still nowhere near sober. Or better in any other way.

.

It would be easy to end his personal martyrdom, just be the way she wanted him to be, try for a real smile every now and then and talk about his feelings like some useless, sentimental wimp. He could be like that.

And yet he couldn't.

How could they ask of him to be "good"?

Didn't they understand?

There was no light without shadow, after all. No one had ever said the shadows _wanted _to be the dark side. But someone had to do it, and that someone was him, he couldn't escape that. Because he was no fluffy kitten. He had tried to fake being one all his first life, he'd thought about nothing else. Honesty. Manners. Kindness. Duty. Politeness. Obligingness. Self-sacrifice.

It had always felt like a lie, every word he'd said, even his thoughts. That wasn't him.

He _was_ a liar. He _was_ rude. He _was _violent, cruel even. He _was_ selfish and there were few he'd willingly make any sacrifices for - and he'd swallow his tongue before he told them.

He was killing two birds with one stone. He was enjoying himself (mostly, anyway), he was driving his brother up the wall and made sure Stefan stayed in his position at the same time. It was sometimes hard to keep him in the light, but contrasting him with himself had always worked in the end.

Right, and he lost the only thing he'd wanted for a very long time.

But he wouldn't be good for her anyway.

Plus, he was used to losing stuff. First Katherine, then the bond with his brother, then his life. His parents, his century, his consideration, his humanity. Elena. His brother again. Elena. Rose. Elena. His composure. Elena. His indifference.

Elena.

.

But if the alternative was a broken heart, he'd rather stick with no heart at all.

.

He could hear the key turn in the lock of their front door. In the blink of an eye, he'd rubbed his face dry (an astonishing amount of moisture on his cheeks, coming to think of it), hid the bottle away, grabbed another book and sat down on a chair in the parlour.

"Morning, Stefan."

His brother had the nerve to smile at him.

"Morning."

He leaned back and plastered a fake smile on his face, happy nobody expected him to hide how much he hated the world.

Nobody ever asked why. And no one ever would.

He was the demon after all, their parents had practically decided that in the moment of his birth (that name sort of had a bitter aftertaste, did it not?). He was the older brother, the bad guy, the miserable one.

He was what he had to be so Stefan could be the opposite. Decent, loved, good. The lucky one.

He needed to stay like this so everybody could see that his brother was, despite everything he had done, a good man.

.

Every story needs a villain or there wouldn't be a hero.

Yes, Damon Salvatore had grasped the concept. He wasn't destined to be the protagonist and people would always chose Stefan over him, just like Katherine. Like Elena.

He was a damn good liar, good enough to make himself believe he could live with that.

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